Nothing Wrong
by Atari-chan
Summary: Wilson had been looking forward to simply having a day at home with House. But patients and subordinates just kept getting in the way. Still, at least he got one good thing out of it. HW slash.


_Summary: Wilson had been looking forward to simply having a day at home with House. But patients and subordinates just kept getting in the way. Still, at least he got one good thing out of it. HW slash._

**OoOoO**

Wilson looked at the clock, picked idly at the bowl of food he'd made and half-eaten without really thinking about it. Sitting on the couch, he picked up the TV remote and flipped through a few channels, almost settling on one before getting bored instantly and changing it to something else. Sighed. Hit his head against the sofa cushion a few times, cursing his life and the many obstacles it seemed to enjoy throwing at him. Glared at his watch as he checked the time again and remembered why he'd been using the clock before. The clock didn't remind him of the date; of just what his life had come to, sitting here, on his own, watching TV on the one day he'd had off all week. Not only that, it was the only day off he'd had in about a month that coincided with House actually not having a patient.

He'd just wanted to spend the day with him, for a change. Actually do something together without the distraction of work, even if it was just sit at home and watch TV, because they enjoyed each other's company. House was always in a better mood when he could avoid a day of work altogether; even a shorter day than usual still served to remind him of how awful life was to people who didn't deserve it. And although a _better_ mood didn't necessarily constitute a _good_ one, it still helped. Any time they could salvage, one of them was tired, or in pain, or just too distracted by their caseload to really enjoy anything.

Wilson's mood had been sinking all day. He'd only managed to drag himself out of bed at about midday and since then he'd just bummed around the apartment; House's apartment, still, since he objected to even the suggestion of a joint ownership, despite the fact that Wilson did all the cooking, and the cleaning, and had long ago stopped paying for his hotel. So, as the sound of a key finally turning in the lock made him snap back into reality, away from his increasingly depressing thoughts, he could hardly even manage a greeting.

"Welcome back."

He hadn't meant for it to sound so… indifferent. He apologised with his eyes as House came to stand in front of him; pulled at House's shirt as he went to sit beside him, redirecting him, and held back a wince of his own as House's leg obviously objected to the unfamiliar position. Still, he met with no real objection, and as House allowed himself to settle, actually putting his weight on Wilson's legs instead of his own as he essentially straddled him, he felt previously tense muscles relax just a little. Wilson raised a hand, idly massaging House's thigh as the other man braced his arms against the back of the couch either side of Wilson's head, trying desperately to dispel the stress of the day's work as quickly as possible because Wilson was the last person he wanted to take it out on. Especially since he was obviously already in a bad mood.

House glanced downwards as he felt the bowl of food Wilson hadn't bothered to move from his lap against his leg. Noticing, Wilson used his free hand to offer him a forkful, aware that after a full day's work in which he had nobody else to eat lunch with, House was probably fairly hungry. Although, judging by the devilish smile and lecherous glint in his eyes that the gesture had triggered, it wasn't food he was hungry for.

"I'd rather eat it off you…"

Wilson managed an appreciative smile, but nothing more. Couldn't House see that he wasn't in the mood?

"Yeah. With pasta, not so sexy."

The expression on House's face; taken aback, slightly hurt, made Wilson almost regret his comment. Only almost, though. House had enough pain already, and Wilson was supposed to be the one protecting him from any more, but sometimes it was just so _infuriating_. House could gauge Wilson's emotions perfectly when he wanted to, but when considering Wilson's mood clashed with his own wants and needs, he had a tendency to ignore them. Strangely, though, even as Wilson continued to glare, House's hands moved inwards, beginning to massage his shoulders. And, God, did it feel good.

"You're annoyed." House spoke, almost in a whisper. Because, unlike the many previous occasions on which Wilson had objected without truly _meaning_ it, this time he'd actually managed to sound convincing. House could never bring himself to go against something Wilson was sure of. It just… happened that most of the time, House was right, and he had to prove it. He knew that Wilson hated it, hated feeling forever the inferior, but House was just being himself, being honest. And if he _was_ honest, he couldn't always bring himself to keep his hands off the other man, even if having his hands on him simply meant comforting him. Because he truly deserved it.

That tone; Wilson knows it. Knows how to recognise the signs of House actually submitting, for once. The first and most significant sign is his own tremendous feeling of guilt for making House feel pressured into doing something he clearly wasn't comfortable with.

"Not at you," he had to correct, "You're a doctor. For God's sake, I know it wasn't your fault. The patients come first, particularly when it's their life that hangs in the balance. I just… wanted to see you."

He raised his hands to House's chest, suddenly having to touch him to reassure himself that the other man was really there. Suddenly needing to express himself, even though he knew he couldn't do it in words if they sat there all night. He implored with his eyes, knew that House knew exactly what it meant; that he was giving his permission but just this once, and couldn't hide a smile as House leant in to kiss him. His feelings were a little mixed; he wasn't in the mood for sex but he knew that House already was, and if things kept going the way they were House was going to assume that it was all alright. He just wanted to _be _with him, be close to him like they were prevented from doing at work. Still, who was he to resist the soft lips that pressed almost tentatively at his own before Wilson just ignored all his mind's warnings in favour of pleasing House. It had led to his own suffering, that attitude, on more occasions than he cared to count, but as slender fingers continued to caress his neck, he couldn't help but remind himself that an evening spent with the man he loved was better than nothing at all. And also, remind himself that he hadn't been allowed to appreciate House naked for far too long. _Lights off_ was the general rule, and although most of the time Wilson agreed with it, his self-consciousness showing through, sometimes he wanted to remind himself just how beautiful life could be. Even when it was damaged, scarred. Broken. He could still gaze upon the gorgeous body that was exposed to nobody but him and, when House's hands twitched with the effort of not covering himself up, he could take them in his own, gently, and kiss each and every square inch of skin he could reach, make House shiver beneath him, eyes shining with tears of emotion as he felt, as he had so rarely in the past, truly loved and cherished for who he was.

House couldn't resist the urge to smirk victoriously as Wilson responded with significantly more fervour than he'd expected. Taking a moment to remove the bowl of food that still lay between them, since he knew that when Wilson was as lost in the moment as he clearly was at that moment, he could think of nothing else, he shifted closer, ignoring the stab of pain that short up his leg as he placed too much weight on it once more. Instead, he focused on the feeling of the skin beneath his fingers; the way muscles relaxed slowly under his ministrations, the way Wilson's breath hitched, just a little, every time he grazed that sensitive spot by his collarbone. He noticed with a slight hint of concern that said bone was slightly more pronounced than usual; Wilson's eating habits had been a little disorganised lately, but it wasn't significant enough for him to stop as Wilson began to slide hands underneath his shirt, pushing material upwards. House had always hated having to take shirts off at this stage of events; having to break a kiss and a moment in order to get it over his head; to make the awkward motion involved in removing it completely and having the shift of balance put too much pressure on his leg. Wilson, though, knew him better than anyone; knew to distract him from the regret that always resulted at the removal of the other man's mouth from his, knew to aid in the continued lifting of the material until it was completely off. He didn't know, as such, to pause dumbly for a moment as House's arms were stretched upwards, highlighting muscles strengthened by years of having to support the part of his weight that his right leg couldn't, and savour the view, but he always did it, and it always gave House a little thrill to know that he was being observed and approved of. Said thrill caused him to shift, claiming Wilson's mouth once more, with more force than before, and really begin to get things going.

Wilson's button down shirts were frustrating; they always seemed so complicated in the heat of the moment, but the sight of the usually immaculate oncologist, hair tousled, eyes half-lidded, chest heaving with emotion and effort House himself had inspired, framed by pastel coloured cotton, that symbol of the façade only he was allowed to see past, made House's heart skip a beat as blood flow promptly changed direction, brain function and coherence considered necessary sacrifices as all energy was focused on enabling House to worship the body beneath him like he knew the other man deserved. His mouth strayed downwards, kissing at the sensitive neck, resisting the urge to mark him, _claim_ him because if everybody saw it and knew, he'd feel inexplicably threatened. Stubble grazed, warm wet tongue soothing and Wilson's complaints about House needing to shave dissolved into soft gasps of enjoyment as he raised hands to tangle fingers in House's hair. Fingers that suddenly tensed, but somehow avoided pulling painfully as a shrill female voice, punctuated by rhythmic poundings at the door, shattered the moment.

"Doctor House!"

House groaned, letting his head drop to rest on Wilson's shoulder, feeling eternally grateful as the other man was silent for a moment, letting him quell the anger as best he could, toying softly with the curls at House's hairline. Wilson was obviously feeling a little better than earlier, as he even managed a small smile as House sat up, glaring at the door as though he could burn through it with his eyes to the woman behind it.

"You go hide." Wilson spoke softly -how did he know that House's head suddenly felt like it was splitting in two?- "I'll get it."

Honestly, he felt a lot better. House hadn't pushed him, had let him recover in his own time, had made an effort to please him simply because he cared. So it was the least he could do to deal with an annoyingly attentive subordinate. As House ignored him, continuing to glare, Wilson leaned in, kissed him. Lapped gently at House's bottom lip, held back the urge to whimper softly as warm hands left his neck, House struggling a little as he got to his feet. He waited as Wilson stretched his arms, began buttoning his shirt as he stood, quickly pulled him into a kiss. Wilson smiled, returned it with a softer, slower kiss of his own that could have got them started again had they not been interrupted by a second round of pounding at the door. House sighed, annoyed, and began to head for his bedroom to escape. He was stopped, though, as he stood in the hallway, by Wilson's hand on his elbow, holding him back. He turned, moved straight into another kiss and, _goddamnit_, Wilson was never this eager when they actually managed to spend a day alone together. A sardonic smile was shared as they separated, House retreating into his bedroom and closing the door behind him as Wilson took a moment to make himself look a little more presentable before opening the door. He resisted the urge to smooth his hair self-consciously; if he drew attention to it, it would only be more obvious that something was wrong.

"Doctor Cameron."

His greeting was a little formal but not unfriendly; he honestly didn't mind Cameron since she'd stopped preaching quite so often –or started getting laid more often- but every moment he spent talking to her was a moment in which he could have been kissing House. He wished he could have got just one more in. But he hadn't. And Cameron was going to take him away from him for the rest of the evening, and he was going to sit at home, by himself, eating too many carbs and sleeping, cold and alone, in a bed that was too big for him.

"Doctor Wilson!" Her speech mirrored his but her surprise was evident. Wilson wondered just how obvious it was that the redness on his neck was House's doing, "Uhm… patient. His kidneys are failing. It's not working."

She looked crestfallen, and Wilson wondered vaguely if she had been the one to suggest the diagnosis they had settled on. She seemed unable to refrain from feeling guilty about any negative involvement, small though it often was. He sympathised momentarily, but pushed it from his mind. She wouldn't accept judgements from him about her guilt, much like he wouldn't accept her comments on House. She didn't _know_ him, goddamnit!

Still, who was he to let his emotions show? Nodding his understanding of her actual message, he left her standing in the hall, not bothering to invite her in. It would hardly take long, he mused with regret as he opened the door to House's bedroom, stood in the doorway to find the other man looking at him. He'd heard, obviously, his expression was a combination of annoyance and guilt, although the latter took priority as he noticed Wilson's expression. God, why was it always made so difficult for them?

"You heard?" Wilson asked quietly, and House sighed. There was no alternative, so all he could do was deal with it as best he could. He found a shirt; creased since Wilson did any ironing in the morning, donned it, and headed out into the hallway, allowing himself nothing more than a quick brush of his hand against Wilson's as he passed him in the doorway.

"I'll see you later," House spoke, tone as non-committal as he could manage, as he grabbed his leather jacket.

"Yeah, you will. I'll be asleep, of course, but you'll see me."

A slight hint of amusement hid the bitterness, Wilson's all-too-convincing fake smile enough to make Cameron return the gesture, albeit a little weakly. House hated the throb in his chest that the comment had caused, hated the way Wilson didn't even have to _try_ in order to get to him. Hated that there was nothing he could do about it…

He looked at Cameron. Submissive, obviously a little guilty for the interruption, but with a hint of impatience that gave away the severity of the situation. Turned his gaze to Wilson. Melancholy, but resigned. Lonely. House wanted to apologise, but another glance at Cameron told him he was already pushing it in terms of the time they –and indeed the patient- had, and she didn't seem in the mood to forgive them for taking a moment alone. He weighed up his chances. Glanced at Cameron. She was alright, really, wasn't she? And again at Wilson, who was staring at the floor but seemed to notice House watching him and met the other man's eyes curiously.

_Ah, fuck it_. House sighed, ignored his mind's warnings, turned and grabbed Wilson by the wrist to pull him into a final kiss. Felt the other man steady himself with a hand against the wall while the other lingered on House's hip. Felt Wilson smiling against his lips and was glad that his gesture was appreciated. Could almost feel Cameron staring at them in disbelief, although to her credit she didn't scream or faint. It was a shame they only had a moment; House would have loved to push it just to see her reaction, but there was a patient that needed saving and he felt much more capable of thinking, suddenly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against parted lips, felt Wilson kiss him quickly in response. He was forgiven. Vaguely, he wondered if he was forgiven enough to risk waking Wilson up when he got back. No, that was too cruel. Wilson being too tired in the morning meant that he didn't make breakfast for either of them.

Reluctantly, he dragged himself away, smiled softly. Wilson actually waved, wordlessly urging him to go, and since a glance at Cameron's expression, still frozen in shock, made him suppress laughter, he did so, ensuring that his back was to her before he smiled. Yeah, she was alright. Foreman would have just rolled his eyes, Chase… would either avert his eyes politely or ask to join in. Hmm…

Back in the apartment, Wilson looked expectantly at Cameron, who had to blink a few times before she could compose herself sufficiently to move. She smiled, blankly, at Wilson, before following House out the door.

Wilson couldn't help but stick his tongue out at her retreating back. That'd teach her to interrupt his evening.

**OoOoO**

_Bad ending. But I couldn't be bothered by that stage. They'd had their attempt at action, House was disturbingly nice. What more do you want?_

_Let's face it, though. Who __**wouldn't**__ eat whatever was available off Wilson?_

_Mmm…_


End file.
